Raining
by suqua
Summary: When one goes to war, and sees the slaughter of human lives...innocent human lives...a soldier cannot forget that. It stays with them, and forever scars them inside their hearts. RoyEd


Raining

* * *

Roy was lost within memories. They crowded him and burnt his skin with evil fervor, scratching at him with their jagged hooks. It was today, he knew, that every sin he'd ever committed had begun. The worst of all...

The office was silent, on account of it being the weekend. Even still, Roy was in his office stretched out on the couch. His jacket hung carelessly over the desk along with some unsigned paperwork. A deep pool of black ink was resting on them, seeping into the paper and soaking into his desk.

He didn't care. His shirt clung to his skin, stained with the dark ink as well. It seemed he'd gotten into a fight with the jar that lay in a melted pile of glass nearby. His boots were tossed to one side, one on its side. The other couch was pushed against the wall, a slightly charred part of it crumbling off.

Those were certainly not the strangest things in the room. In fact, those closest to Roy could say that they were normal. If aggravated to a certain point, Roy could and would becoming impatient and his hands could not be controlled. To save himself from being caught in a burning building, Roy had decidedly taken his gloves off. Both were now stuffed into his pockets.

No, the strangest thing in the room was not the burnt objects of the normally clean and simple room. Not the spill of ink, or the fact that Roy was not completely in uniform. It wasn't that he was not enjoying his day off to it's fullest, or that he was lacking in doing his paperwork for the past three days. He wasn't even worried that Riza would kill him.

The strangest, most surprising thing was the soft, delicate line of moisture reaching down his masculine face and sliding down into the curve of his neck.

Yes, he was crying. Roy Mustang, the Colonel and future Fuhrer of Amertis. Later it would be his job to defend the country and keep the peace. If there was such a thing.

In his entire life, Roy had seen more than his share of horrors. He was too young to be like this, like an old man plagued with memories of a war long ago fought. It had been too long ago; he couldn't remember anything but faces. Seas and seas of them, tear streaked and stained with blood.

It was...during his training that they had said he needed to build up his ability to kill without thought or emotion. No sympathy, just murder. They said it so simply, as if it were the same as learning to use a rifle.

So, they'd sent his team into a small village of Ishballans. One so tiny it couldn't have been a threat. No, they said it was. They'd argued. All of them, saying that it were the village holding the weapons to kill them all.

That was the first time; the very first time he'd ever seen...such atrocities. The twisted expression of a young child as he burned. The stinking smell of charred human flesh and the mountains of bodies had caused all the new young recruits to dispel themselves of anything they'd eaten for the past day.

But Roy had not.

And he cried now, so many years later. This was the day, the day he had first snapped his fingers and taken a human life. It sickened him; his stomach clenched painfully and made him want to throw up as those other recruits had so long ago.

Instead, another tear leaked from Roy's other eye, shining a clear path down his face. His breath caught slightly and he shut them. He felt hot, tired, and couldn't remember the last time he'd cried.

Ages ago. Years.

There were days when the office was not a place that anyone wanted to be. And there were days when there were warning signs put up in front of Roy's office door, though they were subtle. The changed direction of a phone, or something left on the floor when things were religiously picked up.

Once, in an extreme matter of desperation, Hawkeye had left her hair down, to show that things were amiss. It was times like those when they called Edward.

But, they hadn't had to call him today. He was already there, just waiting for the time when the crashes came to a halt, the smoke had drifted away, and there was nothing but silence in the office.

Things were at their most dangerous.

Edward shoved his hands in his pockets, humming under his breath as he shouldered Roy's door open. He didn't hesitate as he stepped inside, kicking the door shut and leaving another of numerous scuff marks on the corner of the door. Behind him, stunned officers stared, marveling at the sheer confidence in which he faced almost certain death.

Years of this. Years of this day, careful plans to make Roy approachable again, strategically placed encounters to set him on an emotional tangent that would get him back to himself. Edward was a master at the art of jerking Roy back into reality, but he had never seen him this bad. He usually didn't break ink bottles on himself.

"Rough day, huh?" He rocked back onto his heels, tilting his head and watching Roy from where he stood.

Roy's lips curled lightly, into a kind of tiny smile that was more sad. It didn't even mask the grief he was feeling, not even the soft chuckle that he let out. "How'd you guess?" He said, glancing up at the younger man.

He knew. He knew just how crazy he looked, how he acted. He had known soldiers who had gone completely mental because of things they'd done in the past. He'd been to the institution. Only for a week, to get his head together just after the war with Ishbal.

How Roy had gotten out, no one really knew.

One of his hands went up, automatically moving to wipe the tears away. It didn't soak into his glove, as he was used to. Instead it smeared.

Everyone thought he was crazy. He knew that too. But Roy wasn't angry about it, nor annoyed. He agreed with them.

His gaze eventually went back to Edward, a somehow unemotional and extremely emotional expression on his face. His eyes usually were so dark that it was impossible to really see what he was thinking. If one looked hard enough...it was possible.

But Roy still didn't know why Edward even bothered.

"The ink. Really, you've out done yourself." Edward heaved a sigh, as if he were dealing with a disobedient child and not his commanding officer. He landed on flat feet again, and pulled his hands from his pockets as he approached the couch. "Looks like I missed the fireworks this year."

This was the easiest part. Getting close to Roy. Physically close, anyway. Mentally, Roy was the most complicated person he'd ever met. Edward was the mouse, still struggling in the middle of the maze while the cheese molded at the end. He knew he was close, he could smell the rot, but he wasn't close enough to get there.

It was unfair of him to compare Roy's mind to rotting cheese, but there were days when the description fit. Edward wasn't sure yet if today was one of them.

"You ready to be human yet?"

"Human...?" Roy's voice echoed, voice sounding far away.

A human.

No, he wasn't. He could never really be one, could he? A human being did not slaughter others as though they were cows ready to be made into ground meat. This had been useless killing of people whom hadn't deserved it.

And he'd known that. No one else had, just Roy. Roy was the only one of the rookies whom had known that the purpose of the war was nonexistent.

He felt a sob catch in his throat, and it felt like blood pooling in his stomach had finally decided to surface. A great glob of it caught, and he could feel new tears slip over his cheeks.

He swore softly under his breath.

Rotting cheese day, year three.

Edward made no attempt to muffle his curse, making it loud and clear. "Roy, you're going to start hurting yourself if you keep this up." Edward remembered a time when that was normal. Their first year of their... almost relationship, and it had taken him a week and a half to get Roy to do more then cry. He'd cried himself into a migraine, and the more he cried, the more his head pounded.

It hadn't been pretty, and Edward had been forced to take drastic measures to calm him down enough to get some decent sleep. It was a story they told no one, though he doubted anyone would believe that Roy had really cried for that long.

Mental and physical pain combined? Edward didn't doubt it one bit.

It was like Roy wasn't seeing Edward. But he was, and he could see his own hands, reaching out like a wounded person reaching to Heaven. They reached until he could take the smaller man's wrist and with a swift tug, pull him over and on top of him.

His nose went for Edward's hair, breathing in deeply. He sighed softly, eyes shutting. "You're always trying to help me." He commented in a quiet tone, "Why is that?"

A soft, surprised sound was all that escaped Edward as he was pulled down. He was used to Roy pulling him around, and though he didn't really like it, he'd had plenty of time to pull away if he had wanted to. And as he was now laying on top of Roy, it was obvious he hadn't. He would rather see that damn smirk then this.

"Because you need it, you beggar." Edward could feel the ink sealing his shirt to Roy's, and stifled a sigh. That was gross. His shirt was going to be black by the time that he was allowed to get up, but he didn't mind that much. It was irritating, sure, but it wouldn't take much to get his shirt and everything in the office back to normal.

And it was because of that, that Roy hadn't been fired for these yearly attacks.

Perhaps the only thing that kept Roy remotely sane was his job, and even that was slowly driving him onto a higher course of madness he didn't dare to calculate.

Then, really...Edward was keeping him sane. He made the nightmares go away, the terrors that struck his heart vanished because the younger man slowly brought him out of his dark pit.

Did he truly deserve it, though? Was he fit to be in the light like this?

His eyes felt weighed down, and he shut them again. "I got in a fight with the ink, desk, and couch." He admitted, "But I won."

Yes, ego. But it was possible that he was slowly climbing from the pit.

Even though it wasn't there, and Edward wouldn't have seen it if it had been, he could hear the small smile in Roy's voice. That was the hidden smile, the one that was entirely serious, and somehow joking. It was an expression, a voice that only Roy could pull off.

Edward took it as a good sign.

"You always do. For awhile, though, I thought the desk was getting tougher for you." He was teasing, of course. Roy could beat the crap out of whatever furniture he wanted to, and it wouldn't give a damn either.

There was a tiny, sliver-like hint of amusement in Roy's voice. As well as pride. "I think not. I could burn that thing to ashes if it weren't in here. I don't want to have to pay for another office..."

Oops. Edward hadn't known about that one. The year before Ed had arrived into his life, Roy's 'yearly ritual of putting himself down' had resulted in him burning down one of Central's old, ancient office buildings.

It had been called a mistake but...Roy, the Fuhrer, Maes...and a few others knew better. And for some reason, Roy was still there.

Though, he had been forced to pay for the new building. And he hadn't been happy about that. It had meant he wasn't liable to be going out for lunch. Instead, he'd gone to the mess hall for a long while after that.

Pushing himself up to look down at Roy, Edward tried to ignore the peel of his shirt and Roy's. He would inspect the damage later. For now, this took priority.

"When did you have to pay for an office?" Oh, he could just imagine Roy's face. He had to bite back a snort, knowing it could very well set Roy off on another self destructive path. Or, it could make him so angry he snapped back to himself. Whichever, Edward wanted to know before it happened.

Roy's eyes were a bit guilty. "...Years ago. I burnt it down in a fit of rage."

He could still remember yelling at other officers to get out of the building. Because of one simple fact.

He could make the fire, just not control it afterwards. Something he hated, that he wanted to change but couldn't. If he could, then maybe he could save lives instead of taking them.

Fireman Roy. It was all that Roy could do not to laugh. It wasn't in his image to burst out laughing. Then again, neither was crying. And yet, the tears kept slipping.

His voice might have sounded normal, smile on his face real...but his mind told him to cry. Because the never-ending film reel of dirty faces, curling skin, and fire kept playing. And it would never stop.

Every face Edward had seen had a different feature that gave it away every time. Like so many other people, Roy's eyes were his weakness. "Windows into the soul," he'd once heard them called. It was Roy's eyes that proved he was human, and moments like this when they were at their most raw.

Edward found any laughter he had drying up. This was not a matter for laughter.

"They call those accidents." Edward rested his elbow just above Roy's shoulder, threading his fingers through Roy's hair. For once, he wasn't wearing his gloves, and it was skin against hair, cool strands warming to match the heat of his body. "Your fireworks have obviously been controlled now."

He could remember the beginning of these yearly rotten days. Bringing Roy back had been a pain, and he could tell afterward that Roy believed it was out of pity. Edward wanted to hit him then, and there were times when he felt the urge now.

It was never pity, and he could never convince himself that Roy was worth pity. Pity was a waste on that man, and Edward didn't have nearly enough of it to just throw about at random. He had done what he'd done out desperation, and the unwavering want to make Roy give himself the respect that others delivered in waves.

"An accident?" Roy repeated, "Maybe. Do you think it was? I'm not sure; I can't remember what I was thinking after that. They...no one said I was crazy then. I was surprised."

He had been sure that it had been time for him to be carted away to the loony bin. Who would want a man who could start fires out on the loose when he was probably bipolar?

It had all been part of the plan, he guessed. The Fuhrer's plan, maybe?

Sighing, he shut his eyes and leaned his head into Edward's warm hand. "I like your name for them. My fireworks. It's accurate, the instantaneous bursts of fire you can't control once they're lit. And after lighting the fuse...it's up to the firework to do it right."

Roy himself, it sounded like, was a firework. His fuse had been lit, but he still had no clue where he was going. Toward the stars, or blowing up on earth and having no chance at the sky.

It was moments like these that Edward reverted to his old mannerisms. Age had done him endless good, he would admit that freely, but there were times when Roy could make him feel sixteen again, and he couldn't help but react as if he were.

Shrugging one shoulder awkwardly, Edward glanced away, even though it didn't matter. "It just fit. It's not like there was any thought to it."

Indeed, there wasn't. There had once been a festival in Risembool, and he'd gone every year he could as a child. His mother used to warn him against getting too close, but he hadn't cared, pressing closer and closer until he was finally allowed to try himself.

That was how he felt with Roy. There were so many warning signs around the man, but he kept pushing and pushing until he would reach a point where understanding was a real possibility. Roy was a metaphorical firework, and Edward found himself testing his limits more and more every day.

Sighing softly, Roy's eyes slowly drifted open. They weren't looking at Edward, more toward the side at the couch. His light frown was clear, and he let his eyes drift open and shut for a moment before letting them rest on the blond boy's face.

It was a miracle, he decided. If not for this young man, this one person...Roy might be dead right then. There had been that incident so long ago, that Roy could only remember one thing. Edward had saved his life, more than one time.

And the only thing that remained of that fight was the scar running over his eyelid and the slightly silvery pupil that hurt when he looked directly at light. It may have been hard to see sometimes, but Roy was not about to label himself a cripple so early in his life.

Roy stared at Edward. He could see when Edward was thinking, when the younger man was caught in a memory. It was like an arm reached out and caught his sleeve, and then slowly let him go. It always entertained Roy to watch Edward through his eyes. But he didn't always stay still, so Roy watched when he could.

"Do you remember..." Roy found himself saying, "When you found me like this the very, very first time?"

For every moment that Roy made him feel like a child, there were the moments where they could simply sit and be silent. Speaking was an unnecessary formality, and they had deeper conversations in silence then they ever would through words. Edward treasured those moments. The ones where he could think, and not worry about judgment.

It was such a pity they were so few and far between.

So, it was with great reluctance that he pulled himself from his thoughts, blinking at Roy as the question settled in his mind. "Mm." It was a universal answer. Yes, he remembered. The single syllable said just how well he remembered, too.

Years ago. More years then Edward cared to count. Those were the years when he still thought it was strange to find Roy in any emotional state apart from the one he had dubbed "bastard." A crying Roy was an unhealthy Roy, then, though now it had simply become a part of who he was.

"I dread the day you found out about my..." His lips curled a little, "Sensitive side."

It was almost a joke-smile, but with a hint of seriousness and stoic expression. A Roy-smile. His smirk widened, and he almost laughed. The thought of calling himself 'sensitive' was completely endearing and impossible.

At least, that's what he thought.

In truth, Roy was probably as delicate as an eggshell. He refused to believe it himself, manly ego and all. But it was his mind and heart that were fragile, because of past experience that had wounded his spirit.

But it was mending. Easily enough that it was a wonder that it was happening at all. Maybe the nightmares wouldn't go away for good, maybe the guilt would never truly pass from his heart. But for some reason, Roy felt as if that were okay. With suffering came the will to live, and to live was to suffer.

He could deal with all that. So long as he still had Edward. Then there wouldn't be any need for rain.

* * *

End.

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